


Learn If You Want To

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [154]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Caretaking, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 14:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16120838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Loki has a problem. Luckily (?) his brother's boyfriend is there to help.





	Learn If You Want To

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts:  
> -Best Friend's Sibling  
> -I was waiting for the train but you saw someone was following me so now we’re pretending to be long lost friends so we can get away  
> -A/B/O dynamics

Loki’s standing half asleep at the front of the platform, his hands jammed in his pockets, the cold concrete of the wall against his back. It’s early and the station is cold; another hour and the place’ll be packed with commuters racing overheated to make their next train, but for now, inside the tunnels, the November chill is clinging hard to the tracks. There are only a few people about, most of them huddled in the middle of the platform where the dim light is brightest and the station announcements are almost audible, anyway.

He has class in an hour, _Fables and Free Will_ , a hybrid English and Philosophy thing he signed up for on a whim and even though it means at 8 am (god) on Tuesdays and Thursdays, he hasn’t skipped all semester. It’s the only class this term that he likes. Normally, a long shot of coffee and [band] on full iPod blast is enough to kick off the last shadows of sleep, but this morning’s been a hard go; his brain feels like it’s soaked in molasses and his body feels heavy, like every bone’s been carved out of stone. Ugh. A cold, hopefully. He’s not sure what he’ll do if it’s the flu.

He hates being sick, hates being doted on and fussed over. Which is exactly which his big, well-meaning if occasionally overprotective brother will do. For gods’ sake, Loki’s 22 years old and in his last stretch of undergrad and at the first sign of a cough, Thor (no, really--their parents had been hippies with a Nordic bent) will wrap him in blankets and force feed him chicken soup and tea. Which isn’t really _that_ terrible, but it comes with Thor’s expression of worry, the radiating sense of _are you ok_ that seeps out of him sometimes when he forgets to work as hard to reign it in.

“I hate to break it to you,” Thor will say when Loki bitches about hovering, about overbearing, about give me some damn room to breathe, “but it’s my job to worry about you.”

“Sometimes I think it’s your life’s mission.”

“Hardly. But somebody has to.” Thor will squeeze his shoulder. “You’ve always been shit at it.”

“I don’t walk through life terrified, is that what you mean? Fuck, it’s not the 1950s, Thor. I’m safe to walk by myself in the street. They even let us drive nowadays, have you heard that?”

“Loki, you’ve never been behind the wheel of a car in your life.”

“Why the hell would I drive? There’s the Metro."

"But," Thor's boyfriend Steve will interject, "he could learn if he wanted to. That's the point.”

Thor will laugh then, the great booming one that’s always reminded Loki of thunder, and sweep him into a warm, crushing hug, and any bullshit Loki has in reserve will give way to the certainty of his brother’s strength, the unshakable foundation of his love. “On behalf of the good people of the District of Columbia,” Thor will say, “please, for the love of god, don’t.”

It’s only been five years since their parents passed, since Loki was pulled out of AP Government and herded down to the office to see Thor’s pale, terrified face, for Thor to pull him close and whisper the end of the world into his ear: _a plane crash, confirmation, both of them, just like that_. Thor had been protective of Loki before that, but now and every moment after, he’d been hypervigilant, sure that danger lurked for Loki, looked for him, waited, and if it annoys the shit out of Loki some days, he understands where it comes from, understood what it means: the lightning bolt of sudden loss had struck Thor once before, and some part of him would spend his whole life waiting for it to strike again.

Never mind that their lives were pretty good now, in some ways more stable than life with their parents had ever been. Thor worked on the Hill as an environmental lobbyist and he was damned good at it, too; if his politics couldn’t get him in the door, then his good looks and his quick smile could--which was, of course, how he’d met Steve. Steve was Senator Stark’s senior aide and kind of a bulldog; smart and starchy and very protective of his boss’s time, and even if he knew Stark agreed with the bill Thor’s group was pitching, it had taken Thor four visits and a free lunch to get ten minutes on Stark’s calendar. That, and Steve’s phone number.

In a couple of weeks, they were dating; another month, and Steve had practically moved in; and now, after almost a year, it was clear that having Steve in his life had helped to curb Thor’s incessant worrying, had given his mind another groove to go down, and that he was a damn good cook and looked heart-stoppingly good in a towel are big pluses in Loki’s book, too.

Not that he has a thing for Steve, his brother’s semi-god sculpted boyfriend. He can just appreciate the view, that’s all.

Loki shivers guiltily, a zip of chill down his spine that pools in the small of his back, and to his surprise, he feels wet there, a full cling of sweat. Crap. He must have a fever. So, well, maybe blankets and bad TV and Thor bringing him tea wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, Loki thinks, reaching up to adjust the strap of his backpack. Maybe Steve will make him some real chicken soup. That’d be nice. Even if the thought of food right now makes him feel sick.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Another, but this one comes out as a jagged, ugly shudder.

_Shit_.

The world feels so sharp all of a sudden; the milky light is too bright and he can smell every bit of dank trash on the platform and his ears are ringing like each one’s a tin gong and he pulls his earbuds out and hears himself gasping, reaching for each breath like a rung that’s just out of reach.

Oh no, he thinks, panic welling in his gut. No. No, no. Not this. It _can’t_ be this, it can’t be! He isn’t due for another week, at least. Fuck.

Maybe he passed an alpha on his way to the station, one just on the edge of their rut. Maybe he can’t count days weeks etc. and his body is actually right on fucking schedule. Maybe it’s just one of those things; heat can be spontaneous, sure, but that hasn’t happened to Loki since high school.

He’s shaking, he’s full on having a meltdown in the middle of Gallery Place, and if he doesn’t get out of here soon, doesn’t get someplace safe, he’ll do something stupid, make some choice based on need and not reason and he needs to get out of here _now_.

But he can’t move. He’s frozen. Frozen and shaking in fear. He’s--

“Loki?”

There’s a man in front of him, broad shoulders and blue, blue blue blue eyes. A kind, familiar face.

“Steve?” The swoop in Loki’s gut makes him sway. “Oh, my god! Oh my _god_.”

“Hey,” Steve says gently, “hey, Lo, it’s ok.”

“No, it’s not,” Loki says, and to his horror, he realizes he’s weeping, big, ugly tears punching their way down his cheeks. “Steve, it isn’t, I’m--”

Steve reaches for him, curls those big hands around his biceps, and Jesus Christ, that feels good. “I know. I mean, I thought--this morning, when you left, you seemed--but I wasn’t sure.”

Loki leans into his grip and has to fight the urge to pitch over and make Steve--starched Steve, pressed Steve, wrapped up in a dark greatcoat and a gorgeous red tie--take all of his body’s sudden weight. “I need to go home.”

“I know you do, honey. I’ll make you sure you get there safe, ok?”

**Author's Note:**

> ...yeah, friends, I don't know what this is.


End file.
